Breakdown
by teamironman99
Summary: One-Shot: Mycroft Holmes is busy with his government official duties, and isn't eating or sleeping properly. He is stressed with international issues, and when Sherlock and Sargent Donovan verbally assault him in 221b Baker Street, he breaks down. Luckily, Anthea is there to the rescue, along with John Watson. Hurt!Mycroft! Remorseful!Sherlock! Slight brotherly love towards the end


**Author's Note:**

 **I do not own any of the characters, including Mycroft's umbrella and 221b Baker Street (haha). Sherlock BBC is the result of Mark Gatiss' and Steven Moffat's love for Sherlock Holmes, and while I love Sherlock Holmes I'll never be able to create something as awesome as they have. I'm a sucker for Hurt!Mycroft, so I created this.**

 **This is my first fanfiction, I wrote it last year, however decided to post it now as it was sitting in my iPad documents for a very long time. Any mistakes are my own, and I apologize for any you may find. Apologies in advance if any of the characters seem OOC.**

 **Review, Favourite and Follow! Hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading!**

Mycroft Holmes was sitting behind his desk at his office for the past three days, trying to smooth over relations with other countries, and figuring out what to do about Ukraine, when Anthea finally barged through the door with more information about the Russians.

"This is all we found sir," she said softly as she handed him a small file.

"We tried to find as much as we can, but in reality, we don't know too much about the Russians, except Putin's use of military troops trying to take over Ukraine... Are you going to send any more troops to help the Ukrainians? Or should we keep quiet for now? Perhaps that would be in our best interests. You have a week to look over and plan our next move, which you can start tomorrow."

"Alright. Thanks for all your help, Anthea. I will surely look over the file tomorrow. I have to go visit my brother now, I haven't seen what he's been up to for a couple weeks already. I believe I've let it go for too long." The man announced, as he sighed, weary.

"Sir?" Anthea asked as she looked at her boss again, but this time in more detail.

"Yes?" Mr. Holmes replied, wincing slightly as he placed the tips of his fingers on his forehead, massaging vigorously, as he let out a deep breath.

"Are you alright? You've been in here for pretty much three whole days, sir, except for going home to take showers and change suits. Maybe you can rest? The remainder of your schedule was cleared, because you said you wanted to visit your brother. But in this state, I don't know how you could deal with him. Maybe go home, take another shower today, then take a nap... Maybe also take some paracetamol? Then you could visit him this evening." His P.A. asked, trying to help.

"No, the faster I get this visit over with, the better." Her boss replied, as he took in a sharp breath of pain, and stood up, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles on his deep charcoal suit.

"The car is ready sir." She replied, sighing in defeat.

"Thank you." Was his only reply as he walked out the doors of his office and soon out the building.

When the car pulled up by 221B Baker Street, it started to rain. It was not heavy at all, but still Mycroft Holmes looked to his right, and noticed his umbrella wasn't there. "My incompetent mind can't handle a simple headache." He thought angrily to himself. "I cannot believe I forgot the blasted thing."

As he got out of the car, he briskly walked to the front door, making sure he didn't get too wet, and he succeeded. The only thing that was slightly wet was his suit jacket, "Which would dry out soon enough, obviously."

As he entered the building, he noticed the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, holding a tray of cookies, about to take them upstairs.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes!" She exclaimed in her usual shrill voice, which made him cringe. "Oh, my. Are you alright? You seem very tired."

"Can you please keep your voice down, Mrs. Hudson? This bloody headache gets 10 times worse when you start talking." He snapped, irritated.

She looked only slightly upset at his words, and Mycroft deduced that she got this regularly from Sherlock, and she was used to it. "Apologies, Mrs. Hudson." He said, quite ashamed that he snapped at the older lady, when she was trying to help.

"It's quite all right, my dear." She whispered this time. "At least you have better manners than Sherlock." She smiled. "Greg is here, along with Sally and Philip." She gestured to the plate of cookies. "Come, I'll take you up."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft thanked, while angrily berating his brain for not figuring out that the Detective Inspector and his "minions," Sergeant Donovan and so called, forensic expert Anderson were at his brothers flat.

They walked up the stairs, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door. Looking into the room, he noticed that it was very, very crowded... Too crowded, especially for someone who has a really, painful headache. Everyone Mrs. Hudson said was there, along with Sherlock, except John.

"Mycroft! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Sherlock announced sarcastically. Everyone looked to the door, surprised.

"How the hell did you know he was there?" Anderson asked, shocked.

"Don't look shocked, anymore, Anderson. You already know how he is." Donovan cut in. "And who is Mycroft? Is that the posh bastard's name? The guy who always steals our crime scenes and makes money off it?" She laughed, as she looked at Mycroft. "I'm gonna give you a piece of my fucking mind."

"Anthea was right, I should've come here a different time." The British Government muttered under his breath.

"Who is Anthea? Your fucking P.A. girlfriend that follows you around like a dog? Where is she now? Cleaning your shit?" Donovan continued furiously.

"More like cleaning the mess of cake crumbs all over his office." Sherlock smoothly cut in. "Isn't that right, Fatcroft? Your diet pills not working well for you? You look like a big, fat, dog, who doesn't know how or when to stop eating. And please Donovan. Does my brother look like he has a girlfriend? He can't even manage that much."

"You're one to talk, brother dear. The last time I talked to you, you were a virgin... And by looking at you now, you still are." Mycroft replied smoothly, trying to keep his anger in check.

Mycroft had enough. He was irritated because of his headache, and on top of that, his brother and the Sergeant are teaming up against him?

"And, Sergeant Donovan. I do not appreciate the way you are talking to me. If you would like to keep your job, then keep your mouth shut, please." The elder Holmes said, with false pleasantness in his voice.

"Who the fuck are you, trying to say what I can and cannot do?" Sally asked, walking closer and pointing at his chest.

"Sally, just stop. You have no idea what this man is capable of. Don't insult him anymore than you already have, and drop it." Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade piped up quietly.

"What are you all on about? I could hear you lot from downstairs..." John asks, confused as he enters the flat, placing groceries on the kitchen table beside one of Sherlock's so called "experiments."

"Oh, hey, Mycroft." John said as he walked by. He backtracked.

"Mycroft, are you alright? You look like you're about to faint." John exclaimed, shocked.

"Brother dear, are you going to turn into a mere little girl? Fainting all over the place like in primary school when they saw little worms wriggling about?" Sherlock laughed loudly.

Mycroft closed his eyes, sighing, and took off his suit jacket, but left the waistcoat on. "Sherlock. Please. I'm in no mood to deal with your silly little games!" He started softly but ended at a shout, making everyone in the room shift uncomfortably.

Mrs. Hudson softly took the jacket from him and hung it on the coat hanger, and patted his arm, trying to make him calm down. He closed his eyes. He'd let his anger get the best of him.

"Brother. Listen to me." Mycroft softly said with a strained voice. "I only come to see how you do. Give me an answer. I will get out of this flat when the words leave your mouth."

"The only words you will ever hear from my mouth is I hate you. I don't want you here, and I don't want you in my life. You think you're so very special, bossing everyone around. We will see how you like it for a change." Sherlock shot back. The hurt evident in Mycroft's eyes made the audience in the room look away from him. Donovan started fiddling with the necklace she decided to wear today, which was a gift from her grandmother a week ago, while Anderson shuffled his feet.

"Sherlock," John started warningly. Mycroft walked around the people in the room and went to the window, his back facing them all, hands in his dark charcoal trousers.

"It's alright, John. I'm used to it. However, brother, what have I done to make you hate me so much?" Mycroft softly questioned, before walking straight to the door out of the building and into the now pouring rain. He didn't want the others to see him in this venerable state, especially Sherlock and Donovan. He stood there for a couple minutes, and tried to get his thoughts under control in the nice, cool air and rain.

"Sherlock!? What the bloody hell are you doing? He's your brother for god's sakes. I'm thoroughly disappointed in you. When has he never helped you when you needed it? And how many times have you helped him when he clearly needs support?" John Watson pointed at Sherlock before running down the stairs, suddenly yanking Mycroft's now drenched form back into the building and up the stairs.

"Sherlock. Get him a bloody towel!" John furiously exclaimed as he half-carried Mycroft through the door, who was now violently shaking. John quickly motioned for the others to get off the sofa before positioning the tense government official comfortably on it. Everyone in the room looked to the now venerable, younger looking man sleeping on the sofa, who, just minutes ago, was looking at them with an intimidating look that made him seem much older than he actually was. Even asleep, Mycroft looked stressed out, and exhausted. Sherlock now looked at his brother with sympathy and full of guilt. He walked towards his brother, towel in hand, and gently started drying Mycroft's hair, and wiped away the droplets of water on his face.

"We have to get him out of these clothes," John stated. "It will make him feel much worse than he already will if he keeps it on." One by one, they took off Mycroft's many articles of clothing from the top half of Mycroft's body. The pocket watch first, then his waistcoat, tie, cufflinks, and shirt had all been removed and hanged to dry, except the cufflinks and pocket watch which were given to Donovan to place on the table in front of the sofa. Underneath his three-piece suits, everyone in the room was surprised to see that although Mycroft had a lean figure, he had obvious muscles as well.

"Stop staring at my brother, Donovan. I don't know if I should throw up or release flies in the flat and see how many enters your mouth." Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock. I would suggest we call Anthea and have her fix this." John stated, picking out Mycroft's phone from the government official's suit jacket, which was still hanging where Mrs. Hudson placed it earlier. Sherlock plucked the phone from John's grasp, and quickly typed in the password before calling Anthea.

"Only my brother would have Anthea as his speed dial 2, the Prime Minister as speed dial 3, Prince Harry as speed dial 4 and the Queen as speed dial 5." Sherlock laughed.

"I wonder who's his speed dial 1..." Anderson murmured.

"Obviously you can not enter the number 1 as a speed dial on the blackberry, Anderson. Kids nowadays are smarter than you." Sherlock taunted as he held the phone to his ear.

"Sir?" Anthea spoke surprised.

"Your boss seems to have gotten himself in a predicament. Come to 221B. Now." Sherlock hung up before Anthea had the chance to reply. "She should be here in approximately 5 to 10 minutes."

Sherlock was wrong, it took her two minutes to get to the flat. She burst into the flat, confusion written in her face before looking at Mycroft on the couch.

"...Mycroft?" She tentatively asked him to wake up. She then turned to the man in question's brother.

"What. Did. You. Do?" She let out slowly, stepping towards Sherlock and pointing at his chest.

"Nothing?" He replied jokingly, however the look on her face sent chills to his spine causing a tightness in his chest. "Donovan... well... Donovan and I made fun of him about sensitive topics that I very much knew would hurt him. On my defence, however, he doesn't usually get so rattled, and usually forms comebacks that sting twice as hard as the insult."

"Mycroft has had a tough 3 weeks, especially the past 3 days. He's had a non-stop migraine from the first of the three days, and he's only gone home to shower and change suits. He hasn't even slept properly and hasn't eaten anything. I cannot tell you why and what happened Sherlock, it's classified." She cut Sherlock off exasperated, much to his chagrin when multiple quiet sniggers filled the room. "He's your brother, Sherlock. Treat him like family, not an enemy. I know he doesn't want to be your enemy any longer, and he's tired of you treating him like one. Mr. Holmes may always seem invincible, but he's just protecting himself from the hurt you've and others have caused him over the years." Anthea finished off.

"I believe we should go now, and leave Mr. Holmes the elder to rest." Lestrade piped up, gathering his things and heading towards the door. "Oi! Are you two knuckleheads going to stand there and stare at them? C'mon lets get working! On to the car, go on! Apologies for intruding." Lestrade and the others left soon after.

"Where did my clothing go?" Mycroft asked an hour later, confused. He placed his hands in his face before getting up off the couch. He was slightly wobbly and almost fell back onto the couch if it wasn't for Sherlock grabbing his arm.

"I believe you should sit back down, Mycroft. You still look quite unwell." Sherlock said, as he helped Mycroft to a sitting position.

Mycroft placed his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "What happened?" Mycroft asked, curious to why he was on the couch with no clothes on the top half of his body.

"Let's see," John started, "You, the 'smarter one' decided it was a splendid idea to go outside in the rain without a jacket while sick and stressed out because Sherlock was being an arse."

"Hey!" Sherlock intervened, unhappy with John's choice of word to describe him.

"It's alright, Sherlock. I already believed you to be an arse before Dr. Watson so kindly pointed out." Mycroft gave a soft chuckle at that before looking to Anthea, who stood in front of him with a new suit in her arms.

"Sir, would you like help getting dressed? Or will you be alright?" Anthea asked, worriedly.

"Of course not Anthea! I am quite able to dress my own self, thank you." He picked it up, giving her a thankful look before walking into the bathroom. When he walked out, Anthea looked at him with a slightly irritated expression.

"I told you sir, that you should talk to Sherlock later and get some rest at your home, but you did not listen. Next time, when it is quite obvious you need rest, I will not take no for an answer." She sternly expressed, before giving her boss a hug.

"I understand your concern, Anthea, however you need not be concerned for me." Mycroft replied as he hugged her back. Sherlock and John were surprised, the iceman had finally trusted a goldfish.

"Oh, come on. Anthea is smarter than the average person, after all I hired her myself." Mycroft snapped after seeing the incredulous looks on both John and Sherlock's faces.

"Go home and rest, Mycroft. Doctor's orders. If you don't, I've given Anthea express orders to knock you out." John laughed, mirth shining in his light brown eyes.

"Thank you, Dr. Watson. I appreciate your help. Good day. Anthea, let's go." Mycroft stated, before placing his hand at the small of Anthea's back as he lightly guided her forward towards the door.

"Good bye, brother mine." Mycroft said before exiting the door, however felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around. Sherlock's eyes were full of remorse, causing Mycroft's heart to clench painfully. "It's alright, dear brother. You are forgiven." Sherlock gave his elder brother a thankful expression before sitting back down in his usual chair, John closing the door behind the government official.


End file.
